


Where the Sun Beats

by pokey_jr



Series: Only Sequences Change [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor smiles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Petting zoo, Sassy Connor, Silly, a real smile, cute and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/pseuds/pokey_jr
Summary: “Connor, are you capable of laughter?”“Of course.”“Well why have I never heard you do it?”“From what I understand of human behavior, laughter can occur in a number of circumstances, but it typically requires experiencing something funny. And I spend most of my time around you, Detective.”**A genuine smile from Connor might be too much to hope for.





	Where the Sun Beats

“Connor, are you capable of laughter?”

“Of course.”

“Well why have I never heard you do it?”

“From what I understand of human behavior, laughter can occur in a number of circumstances, but it typically requires experiencing something funny. And I spend most of my time around you, Detective.”

Walking beside him, you look over in time to see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Other than that, he stares straight ahead, composed and even as usual.

You shake your head, and let it drop. At the entrance to the carnival, you flash your badge to the attendant, get the usual pushback regarding Connor’s presence.

“He’s a detective,” you argue. “He’s my partner, he’s not going to hurt anyone.”

“Sorry, ma’am, no androids. Management policy.” He leans in. “They scare people.”

You look from the attendant to Connor, incredulous. “Are you kidding? _He’s_ scary?” (As if on cue, a butterfly lands on Connor’s nose.)

“No androids, ma’am. Leave it outside or pay for one of the charging stations.”

Connor only stands nearby, passive and serene. Nothing ever bothers him. He’s had angry protesters and panicked idiots and demanding parents scream in his face. All sorts of vitriol. He’s never flustered.

“That’s an illegal policy,” you snap at the attendant. “And that no-androids sign is illegal too. Take it down or you’re getting a fine. Come on, Connor.”

Storming away doesn’t work quite as you intend. The turnstile is an older version than what you’re used to, and cumbersome; it gets stuck at first, and then your pants snag, somehow, and to top it all off, you drop your badge while extricating yourself.  
When at last you make it through, you turn to see if there’s any reaction from Connor. He follows you through, pristine, fluidly scoops up your badge and hands it to you. Otherwise, nothing.

Until his LED swirls, blue into yellow.

You imagine the array of choices his program might present him with in the moment:

X PRETEND NOT TO NOTICE  
O CHEEKY  
[ ] PLAY WITH QUARTER  
^ THE MISSION

_> CHEEKY_

He gives you that ‘not quite a smile’ smile again, the one that gives you a happy, melty sort of feeling. “It’s alright, Detective. I’m sure that man you just threatened and insulted didn’t notice your clumsiness.” Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

“There’s something you should know about,” you tell him, as you move away from the attendant’s booth as quickly as possible, while also checking that your pants aren’t ripped. “Called secondhand embarrassment.”

“My program doesn’t register embarrassment.”

“Yeah, well it would nice if you could pretend. Anyway, let’s check around. Sooner we clear it, the sooner we can get out of here.”  
You lead him further in, past the games and kiosks. There’s not enough of a crowd to worry about getting separated, but you stay close to him anyway. “Remember, we’re looking for any traces of blue blood from a PR-700 model. Don’t make it too obvious what we’re doing here, though, try to blend in.”

Fat chance of that happening. Like any shiny new prototype, Connor tends to attract attention, but he nods anyway. “Got it.”  
You restrain yourself from heaving an audible, lovestruck sigh. He really is too cute. His voice has a pleasant, even timbre to it, which he had once explained to you had been engineered for optimal integration with humans.

Integration. Yeah, right. He can walk and talk and wink at you and throw shade when he wants, but you’ve been trying to get him to laugh, genuinely laugh, or hell, even a natural smile, but no. He must have the capacity for it. You know of certain things he likes, such as dogs. Well, one thing.

Maybe he’s right, you really aren’t funny, you turn to look at him and—

Uh oh. He’s stopped, about five feet behind you, and has that deadeye android zone-out.

“Find something?” You call.

His response is delayed, his LED spinning, spinning… “I think so!” He strides ahead with new enthusiasm.

“Blue blood?” you ask, trotting after him.

He doesn’t answer. “Connor!” The crowd is heavier here, people keep cutting between you. He looks back once, grabs your hand, and pulls you with him, weaving between clusters of people, most of whom aren’t keen to step aside for an android. He barrels ahead anyway, jostling those who are too slow to move.

So much for keeping a low profile. But he’s cute when he’s like this, and more importantly, dependable. It’s rare that he’s wrong. He’s really just the best, and you know deep down that this crush is fruitless, not to mention inappropriate, because he’s your partner, but he’s really unlike anyone else. Kind, naïve yet oddly sassy, and unnaturally calm.

You run straight into him when he stops abruptly, though he catches you before you stumble. “Jeez, Connor. How about a warning next time?”

“Sorry, Detective.”

You wave that off. “What’d you see, what was that about? You got a hunch?”

“I don’t get hunches. I receive inputs of data, analyze those, and calculate probabilities, with a 0.005 percent margin of error.”  
It’s hard not to scowl at him. Might be that even a genuine smile is too much to hope for. “Alright. Fine, whatever. What’d you see? Why’d you take us here?”

You look around, taking in the numerous pens and enclosures.

“I… thought I saw… something.” He’s suddenly shifty, and you follow his gaze to the chalkboard sign listing which animals are on display today.

Camels, llamas, goats, birds, ponies, rabbits, guinea pigs, sheep, curly haired cows, mini pigs, and one giant tortoise.

When you look back to ask him if he’s lost the trail, you seen only his grey jacket and the blue triangle, disappearing into the crowd. 

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._ “Connor!” You chase him, frantic, but he gains more and more distance, and within moments his dark head ducks out of view; you’re left elbowing people, and cursing Connor’s sometimes inexplicable single-mindedness. There are instances you think you should put a collar on him, which in turn conjures up all sorts of intriguing possibilities.

Eventually you slow, the press of the crowds is too great. And anyway, he’ll find you or you’ll find him—  
There!

You reach a break in the crowd, just in time to see him vault the fence into the goat pen. Children and parents alike recoil in surprise, assume it’s a rogue android, probably.

Who gives a shit. Not illegal. You come to the fence, wanting to see what he does, why his curiosity led him here.

Your heart skips a beat watching him. He’s simply too handsome, and you feel guilty about the inappropriate thoughts he inspires, but then he goes and does silly things like this and a goat is nibbling on his sleeve and he’s _smiling._

A real smile, whatever real means anymore, but it spreads across his face, easy, natural. Makes you swoon, and you can hardly believe what you’re seeing.

You want him to look at you like that. More than you’ve ever wanted anything, you wish he would and now he’s laughing, mobbed by baby pygmy goats which are jumping around and trying to headbutt him. So that’s what it sounds like. Perfect, as you’d imagined, altogether unfairly charming. A mellifluous counterpoint to the goats’ bleating. 

After a time he notices you, and evades the pack to come over to where you’re standing, though several determined ones follow him, their tufty tails wiggling. For his part, he looks just as excited. His neat hair is a bit mussed, there are goat slobber marks on his jacket, straw on his jeans. He’s grinning, still, the kind of pure happiness that makes you want to join in whatever he’s doing.

If there wasn’t a fence in the way you might kiss him.

Instead you just sigh, and prompt an explanation, though you don’t really care. This spectacle was reward enough for the trouble.  
He gives you one anyway. “They reminded me of dogs,” he says, as if it’s obvious. 

You reach through the links in the fence, grab his tie, and pull him closer. His warmth falters for a second, he tilts his head, you know he’s analyzing you.

Then he’s beaming at you again, and his dark eyes are teasing. “If you want to kiss me, Detective, I think we should move to a more private place.”


End file.
